ONE lovely evening in the autumn, a strange ship was seen
at a short distance from Cape Cornwall. The little wind there was blew from
the land, but she did not avail herself of it. She was evidently permitted
to drift with the tide, which was flowing southward, and curving in round
Whitesand Bay towards the Land's-End. The vessel, from her peculiar rig,
created no small amount of alarm amongst the fishermen, since it told them
that she was manned by pirates; and a large body of men and women watched
her movements from behind the rocks at Caraglose. At length, when within a
couple of pistol-shots off the shore, a boat was lowered and manned. Then a
man, whose limited movements show him to be heavily ironed, was brought to
the side of the ship and evidently forced--for several pistols were held at
his head--into the boat, which then rowed rapidly to the shore in Priest's
Cove. The waves of the Atlantic Ocean fell so gently on the strand, that
there was no difficulty in beaching the boat. The prisoner was made to stand
up, and his ponderous chains were removed from his arms and ankles. In a
frenzy of passion he attacked the sailors, but they were too many and too
strong for him, and the fight terminated by his being thrown into the water,
and left to scramble up on the dry sands. They pushed the boat off with a
wild shout, and this man stood uttering fearful imprecations on his former
comrades.

It subsequently became known that this man was so
monstrously wicked that even the pirates would no longer endure him, and
hence they had recourse to this means of ridding themselves of him.

It is not necessary to tell how this wretch settled
himself at Tregaseal, and lived by a system of wrecking, pursued with
unheard-of cruelties and cunning. "It's too frightful to tell," says my
correspondent, "what was said about his doings. We scarcely believed half of
the vile things we heard, till we saw what took place at his death. But one
can't say he died; because he was taken off bodily. We shall never know the
scores, perhaps hundreds, of ships that old sinner has brought on the
cliffs, by fastening his lantern to the neck of his horse, with its head
tied close to the forefoot. The horse, when driven along the cliff, would,
by its motion, cause the lantern to be taken for the stern-light of a ship;
then the vessel would come right in on the rocks, since those on board would
expect to find plenty of sea-room; and, if any of the poor sailors escaped a
watery grave, the old wretch would give them a worse death, by knocking them
on the head with his hatchet, or cutting off their hands as they tried to
grasp the ledges of the rocks.

A life of extreme wickedness was at length closed with
circumstances of unusual terror--so terrible, that the story is told with
feelings of awe even at the present day. The old wretch fought lustily with
death, but at length the time of his departure came. It was in the time of
the barley-harvest. Two men were in a field on the cliff, a little below the
house, mowing. A universal calm prevailed, and there was not a breath of
wind to stir the corn. Suddenly a breeze passed by them, and they heard the
words, "The time is come, but the man isn't come." These words appeared to
float in the breeze from the sea, and consequently it attracted their
attention. Looking out to sea, they saw a black, heavy, square-rigged ship,
with all her sails set, coming in against wind and tide, and not a hand to
be seen on board. The sky became black as night around the ship, and as she
came under the cliff--and she came so close that the top of the masts could
scarcely be perceived--the darkness resolved itself into a lurid
storm-cloud, which extended high into the air. The sun shone brilliantly
over the country, except on the house of the pirate at Tregaseal--that was
wrapt in the deep shadow of the cloud.

The men, in terror, left their work; they found all the
neighbours gathered around the door of the pirate's cottage, none of them
daring to enter it. Parson--had been sent for by the terrified peasants,
this divine being celebrated for his power of driving away evil spirits.

The dying wrecker was in a state of agony, crying out, in
tones of the most intense terror, "The devil is tearing at me with nails
like the claws of a hawk Put out the sailors with their bloody hands !" and
using, in the paroxysms of pain, the most profane imprecations. The parson,
the doctor, and two of the bravest of the fishermen, were the only persons
in the room. They related that at one moment the room was as dark as the
grave, and that at the next it was so light that every hair on the old man's
head could be seen standing on end. The parson used all his influence to
dispel the evil spirit. His powers were so potent that he reduced the devil
to the size of a fly, but he could not put him out of the room. All this
time the room appeared as if filled with the sea, with the waves surging
violently to and fro, and one could hear the breakers roaring, as if
standing on the edge of the cliff in a storm. At last there was a fearful
crash of thunder, and a blaze of the intenest lightning. The house appeared
on fire, and the ground shook, as if with an earthquake. All rushed in
terror from the house, leaving the dying man to his fate.

The storm raged with fearful violence, but appeared to
contract its dimensions. The black cloud, which was first seen to come in
with the black ship, was moving, with a violent internal motion, over the
wrecker's house. The cloud rolled together, smaller ana smaller, and
suddenly, with the blast of a whirlwind, it passed from Tregaseal to the
ship, and she was impelled, amidst the flashes of lightning and roarings of
thunder, away over the sea.

The dead body of the pirate-wrecker lay a ghastly
spectacle, with eyes expanded and the mouth partly open, still retaining the
aspect of his last mortal terror. As every one hated him, they all desired
to remove his corpse as rapidly as possible from the sight of man. A rude
coffin was rapidly prepared, and the body was carefully cased in its boards.
They tell me the coffin was carried to the churchyard, but that it was too
light to have contained the body, and that it was followed by a black pig,
which joined the company forming the procession, nobody knew where, and
disappeared nobody knew when. When they reached the church stile, a storm,
similar in its character to that which heralded the wrecker's death, came
on. The bearers of the coffin were obliged to leave it without the
churchyard stile, and rush into the church for safety. The storm lasted long
and raged with violence, and all was as dark as night. A sudden blaze of
light, more vivid than before, was seen, and those who had the hardihood to
look out saw that the lightning had set fire to the coffin, and it was being
borne away through the air, blazing and whirling wildly in the grasp of such
a whirlwind as no man ever witnessed before or since.